Confession
by Chemins
Summary: PG for mention of rape. A week after an incident leaves a rift between Buffy and Spike, the vamp goes to Joyce to confess his deed. Better than it sounds. My first Buffy fic. PLEASE R&R!


Title: Confession

Category: Angst, Romance

Warnings: Mention of attempted rape, nothing graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot. Can I be anymore legally safe?

Author's Notes:

**_READ THIS PLEASE! READ THIS PLEASE! READ THIS PLEASE! READ THIS PLEASE!_**

This is my first Buffy fic, so please, give me all the positive and negative criticism you can. Also, I'm learning things that happened in the series as I go, so bear with me if I say "after this happened" instead of "post-Chosen" or something like that.

This fic happens before Joyce's death. And the mentioned rape is NOT the one right before Spike leaves to find his soul. This is just an incident that occurred beforehand.

* * *

The music pumped through the speakers, the bass thumping in her chest. She didn't hear the words; she just felt the music. It seemed able to drown out the deep ache in her chest, the pain that came with betrayal. 

Spike had tried to rape her the week before.

It didn't matter how many times she played it over in her head; Spike was the one at fault. He'd lied to her, he wouldn't listen to her, then he attacked her. His fault, all the way.

Right?

Somehow, through a small pause in the music, Buffy Summers heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Since she didn't know whether her mom had left for the movies yet as planned, Buffy hit the power button on her impressively large and expensive stereo before opening her door.

She heard her mom's voice in the hallway. "Well, hello! I haven't seen you in awhile! How's it going?" Buffy felt her hopes rise. It had to be Giles or Xander. Those were the only two people that Buffy could imagine her mom being so benevolent to. But her next words crushed Buffy's smile.

"What happened to your face? And you're limping…" Buffy leaned against the wall behind her in agitation. It was Spike; it had to be. He'd been patrolling with Xander and, remarkably, Willow, as well, and they'd been ambushed by a couple of demons and vampires. While Xan and Willow had managed to walk away with little more than scrapes, Spike had taken the brunt of the attack.

According to Willow, at least. Buffy hadn't been there. She hadn't been patrolling for a week. Because that would mean to chance bumping into _him_.

"Here, come into the kitchen and I'll get you some coffee or something," Joyce said. Spike hadn't spoken at all; more than likely, he was just blowing off her concerns with a wave of his hand while nodding to her other questions. But that didn't stop Buffy from grasping a feeble glimmer of light that maybe, just maybe, the visitor wasn't Spike.

Buffy quietly walked downstairs, keeping her steps light on the floor. She crept towards the kitchen, avoiding the spot in the floor that she knew creaked under weight, and pressed herself against the wall. She took a breath, held it, then leaned over and peeked around the doorjamb.

Her mom was over to the side, messing with the coffee and pot, and he…he was next to the bar. He was clad in his usual black cargo pants, heavy combat boots, tee shirt and leather trench coat. His face was bruised and a little swollen, and again, Buffy found herself staring into his eyes. This time, though, was for all the wrong reasons. This time wasn't out of lust or passion, or searching for truth or an attempt at being earnest. This was because his eyes were dead.

Granted, he was the undead. But his eyes held no life, no spark. They were usually blue and expressive, flashing when angry, cloudy when hurt. Now they were light blue and frozen. No movement.

"Joyce…we need to talk." His first words to Joyce, and his voice was as dead as his eyes. Joyce turned back to the vampire, a frown marring her features. "What is it, Spike?" The blonde didn't look directly at her. Instead, he seemed fascinated on memorizing the pattern of the countertop.

"How's Buffy been, Joyce? Is she alright?" The woman sighed. "I honestly don't know, Spike. She's been avoiding me, everyone, actually, for the past week." Spike swallowed, closed his eyes, and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Did she…did she tell you anything?"

Joyce was picking up that something was seriously wrong. She placed her hands on the counter behind her to steady herself. "Spike, what happened?" The vampire's words were soft and pained. "I screwed up, Joyce. I did something I shouldn't of. I tried to do something I had…_have_ no right to do."

Buffy watched the scene incredulously. Spike couldn't actually be thinking about confessing, could he? To her mother, no less. He was going to tell her what he did?

"What did you do, Spike?" When the creature didn't answer, Joyce slowly walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm. His reaction shocked her. He stumbled backwards, apprehension on his face, and he quickly said, "Don't touch me, Joyce! You can't! You and Dawn and Buffy are clean! You're pure and clean and white! I'm dirty, I'm evil, and I'm a disgusting, soulless beast! You can't touch me!"

Joyce looked at the vampire with confusion. He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. He still wouldn't meet her eyes. "Spike…what did you do? What did you do?" Finally he looked up, and there were unshed tears in his eyes. "I tried to rape her, Joyce. I tried to rape Buffy. I tried to take a part of herself from her."

Joyce and Buffy, still hidden behind the wall, had the same reactions. They both froze, eyes wide, mouth open, and a hand to their chests. Spike walked backwards, eyes closed, until he hit the wall that Buffy was hiding behind. He slid down it, sitting down hard on the floor, and hugged his knees to his chest. Joyce looked at him with shock and anger written plainly on her face.

"Why, Spike? After all she's done for you! She's helped you, she's spared your life, and she's let you into her life and home! Why?" Joyce's words were shouted, fairly screamed, and she walked up to Spike with purposeful steps. She grabbed the front collar of his leather duster and hauled him to his feet. He still wouldn't meet her eyes, and she shook him hard.

"She's given you so much! Why would you repay her like this?!" Without thinking, Joyce reached up and slapped him hard across the cheek. His ingrained reaction was instantaneous. He abruptly vamped out and pushed her away. She hit the island with a loud thud and cried out, clutching her wrist.

Spike screamed and his face took human form again. He fell to his knees, clutching his head in both hands, and as the chip did its work, he whimpered, "Why? God, why…" Joyce, holding her wounded wrist to her chest, heard Spike mutter, "It stops me when I hurt other people. But it doesn't stop me whenever I hurt Buffy! You always hurt the ones you love! Why doesn't it stop me then!?"

Joyce took a moment to find her voice. "Because it can't, Spike. She's not human anymore. You can't rely on the chip to stop you from hurting people, Spike. You're going to have to rely on yourself."

Spike looked up, still holding his head and wincing, and said softly, brokenly, "I can't, Joyce. I just hurt you. I hurt Buffy. I hurt Dawn. I hurt Giles. I hurt Xander. I hurt Anya. I hurt Willow. I've hurt everyone I've ever come in contact with. I can't stop myself from doing it. I can't rely on myself anymore, not for anything. I've had over 100 years of experience hurting people and it didn't get any easier or harder…until I met Buffy."

Joyce's maternal instincts took over, draining her anger in place of sympathy and compassion. She slowly walked up to Spike and knelt in front of him. He looked up, afraid, and Joyce saw the hand imprint on his face from her attack. Without thinking, she reached up and touched his cheek. He started and tried to shy away, but Joyce quietly said, "No, Spike. Stay still."

So he did. She gently pulled his hands away from his head and frowned when she saw the bruising on his forehead. She sighed and asked, "Why, Spike?" The vampire looked at her, and his voice shook and he whispered, "I love her, Joyce. I've always loved her. Anything and everything I do begins and ends with her. It used to be an obsession…but then she kissed me, and it became love.

But she's confusing. She'll kiss you and then try to kill you. She'll let you get close before forcing you back. She'll put up a mask for each person she meets." Spike shook his head and his tears fell as he confessed, "I went to her that night to tell her that I love her. I went to her with my heart on my sleeve and her name on my lips. I went to her as William…not as Spike. But I left…"

Spike trailed off and shook his head. Joyce pressed, "How did you leave, Spike?" He closed his eyes and said, "I left with a stake in my side and tears in my eyes…but her name was still on my lips." Joyce was still. She watched the vampire, the Big Bad, the vampire sired by Angelus who had been Jack the Ripper himself, the vampire who'd gotten his name by torturing his victims with railroad spikes…she watched him cry.

"She'll forgive you, Spike. She always forgives. It's one of her most endearing traits." Spike sniffled and stood slowly, wiping his tears from his face with the back of his hand. "Not this time, Joyce. I don't think she will this time." He walked towards the door that led to the backyard, paused, then said quietly, "I'm sorry." Then he was gone, into the darkness, like the creature of the night he was.

* * *

Buffy sat against that wall for hours. She didn't hear her mom head upstairs; ignored her near-silent gasps of pain as she wrapped her sprained wrist. She stayed on the floor well into the night, her mind milling over Spike's words. 

_"I went to her as William…I left with a stake in my side…but her name was still on my lips."_

It was three o'clock when Buffy finally stood. She mindlessly pulled on her coat and shoes and walked out the door. She knew where her feet would carry her, and sure enough, she found herself in the cemetery. She heard something to the side, and she followed the noise. She found Spike in between two demons, big ones, and they looked pissed.

Buffy moved on autopilot, taking down one, then focusing on the other. When they had reverted to their dead primordial-ooze-wannabe forms, Buffy stood over Spike. He was unconscious, lying on the cross headstone where the demons had thrown him. There was a faint hissing as his right hand and wrist burned on the stone.

Buffy fingered the stake in her hand, contemplating her choices. Then Spike moved, only a little, but enough to make up Buffy's mind. She put the stake in her pocket and carefully lifted Spike from the headstone; she got under him and pulled one of his arms over her shoulders, used it to pull him higher onto her back, and jumped his weight a little to shift his position and keep his feet from dragging the ground. He was light, and Buffy realized that he hadn't been eating.

She shook her head and headed towards his crypt. The door was already open, and she found the place ransacked and broken. She ignored the mess and with difficulty, cleared off the top of the tomb in the center of the room. She laid Spike down and watched him for a moment before undressing him. She began to patch his wounds, and even in his unconsciousness, managed to get him to swallow a little blood.

Then she sat and thought.

* * *

Spike awoke near dusk the next day. He was confused, at first, and it took him a moment to realize that he was alive, his wounds were bound, he was feeling stronger than he had in a week, and…his crypt was cleaned. 

His final realization was enough to make him sit up, a little too fast in his concussion's opinion, and he looked around in shock. The demons that had attacked him had broken in and torn everything up, including his TV. But the place was fixed…and there was a new TV on a new table. There was a new chair, a couple of pillows, a chest, presumably with his clothes in it, and there was an envelope on the top of the TV.

Spike stood carefully, wincing as his leg protested the movement. He limped to the TV and carefully took the envelope in his right hand, aware of the burns that the white bandages covered. He was also thankful that his pants were still on, even though it was obvious that whoever had helped him and taken them off to bind the slashes from the demon's claws. Spike shook away the memory with a sigh and opened the envelope.

There was a single sheet of paper inside, white, clean, and in the middle, in Buffy's elegant scrawl, was a small note.

_  
Spike,_

_You came to me once with your heart on your sleeve and my name on your lips._

_You left alone, hurt, and tired._

_I forgive you for what you did._

_I am sorry for what I did, and how I've used you and treated you ever since we met._

_Can you come back to me again, William?_

_Buffy_

Spike read and reread the letter, ignoring the way his eyes misted. He traced her words with his finger, imitating her style. Then he looked up and around, seeing the apology that she left for him. Finally, he made his choice.

* * *

That night in Sunnydale was unusual. The aurora borealis had decided to make an appearance, the first time in over 100 years. At the Summers' residence, all was quiet. 

And in the backyard, two figures laid on a blanket on the ground, chatting quietly and laying in each other's arms.

On a tree in the far corner of the yard, carved deep into the bark, was a short message:

___Whenever the world seems against your love, look at the stars and think about how in the grand scheme of things, your unlikely love is worth more than the world's opinion._

Buffy Summers and William Winters

* * *

So, that's the end! Just a really short fluffy fic. Pleeeeeeease review! I need to know if I should ever write any more BtVS fics. Thanks guys! I love you! 


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